GeritaOnly Crucible Germany and North Italy
by Heidirae1
Summary: He'd screamed my name…loudly and fearfully. I had stood, staring and saying nothing. I watched him cry and listened to him shout, silently.


**'Only Crucible'**

A Gerita: Germany x Italy fanfiction

*I dedicate this to my best friend, who has stuck with me for the better and worse that life has to offer, I can't thank you enough for that.

**Author's Note: I don't own Hetalia or any of its characters. This story is told in Germany/Ludwig's POV in first person. This is my first fanfiction so please review it! Also there might be minor spelling/grammatical errors…please try to over look this! Enjoy~!**

It stuck to his skin—clear, crystal droplets. Small rainbows of color were twisted inside of those droplets like a bubble or a kaleidoscope, twirling delicately in a single gust of spring wind. His rumpled auburn hair was dampened flat against his jugular and jaw. Water beaded around the small curl braided about the side of his head and glinted like foil in the hint of sunlight that broke across the horizon. His thin, blue tee-shirt had sculpted itself perfectly around his collar bone and shoulder blades. Each muscle was defined as his chest gently rose and fell with a passing breath.

My ears rang loudly with the sound of my heartbeat, thumping painfully against my rib cage. I squinted into the thickening fog, struggling and gasping for oxygen.

"Fel-Felicano?" I managed.

He turned towards me; confusion glinting in his eyes briefly, only to be replaced with realization.

His soft lips—which were now purpled and numb—weakly mumbled, "Ludwig, the sky…it's crying." He smiled.

I felt the blood—hot—under my skin, filling the surface of my face. Quickly I touched my face with my wet, cold hand...trying to rid myself of the unwanted reaction.

"Italy…it's raining. You should come inside with me before you catch a cold," I strictly informed him.

He glanced up at me, now looming slightly over him, and nodded.

-inside-

The water dripped off of him…I watched it pebble onto my hardwood floors.

"Halt!" I ordered. He froze stiffly in place, with the cluelessness of a child drawn across his features.

After several short minutes I returned from my bedroom, shoving a stack of neatly folded clothing into his arms.

"There is a blow dryer in the bathroom, use it on your hair. This clothing is the tightest of my wardrobe, hopefully it will fit you."

"Grazie," he whispered as he passed me.

I sat down on the couch and waited for him to return. Italy was acting much more peculiar than usual today. It seemed impossible for anything to shake him—after all, he was such an oblivious and naive optimist. I prepared coffee and pushed it to the end of the table. I watched the steam ascend from the rim of the mug.

Suddenly, I heard a loud crashing noise and Feliciano North Italy Vargas stumbled into my living room. He was tugging at the waist of his pants—already dragging and tripping on the pant legs. The shirt I had given him was sliding off one of his shoulders, and his hair was a disfigured nest of redish streaks. He sat next to me, sighing loudly, a settle blush decorating his cheeks. I cleared my throat.

"So for what reason exactly _were _you standing outside, by yourself, in the pouring rain like that?" I asked, handing him a mug of coffee.

He put his lips, now pink and supple, to the rim of the mug. The steam coiled itself around his top lip as he gently massaged the rim with his lips, sighing softly as he did so. He peered up at me, his brown, milk chocolate eyes boring into my sky blue ones. I felt embarrassed for some reason, then…as if I had said something idiotic or obvious.

"I was waiting for someone," he mused. "My date actually…but she never came."

I stared at him like he was a three legged monster. Italy had a….date? Why didn't those words make since together in my mind? It was as if Felicano had just told me that he went on a walk with his refrigerator today…and in his mind, that was a normal thing.

"How often do you go on dates?" I asked, furrowing my brows.

"Oh, usually every other week or so but lately I guess you could say I've been stopped in the plaza more often than the average person." He rubbed the back of his head and smiled weakly.

"Was she important to you?"

"Who?"

"That date of yours today…since she didn't come and all."

He stretched his shoulders out and let them fall back to his slumped position. "Ah, no, not really; she was just another girl. I meet them all the time. I liked this one a lot in particular but I have more important things on my mind. Also it would have been shameful to meet such a pretty lady all soaked, hmm?"

I felt relief wash over me, but also another more vengeful feeling. Was that because I was envious of Italy's charisma towards women? I tried to remember a time I courted a girl. But the longer I thought about it the more frustrated I became.

Italy craned his head back, staring at the ceiling. The permanent aura of relaxation and happiness surrounding him, so vividly it was almost visible. It was both a vexatious and refreshing sensation to have someone like him around. Annoying in part because I knew I could never be like him and never think the way he does. Then, at the same time, he had this way of making those around him happy too. Or at least _think _they were happy.

A warm feeling embedded itself inside of me. I touched my chest, expecting it to feel hot; similar to the coffee mug on the table. But it was damp. Only then did I discover my concern with Felicano's wellbeing had completely blinded me from taking care of my own. My clothing was muddied with soil and rainwater. My bangs were sticking to my forehead in short, random spikes. A chill ran down my spine and unconsciously, I reached for my coffee. My hand searched and found nothing. Dumbfounded, I realized on the table before me, there was only one mug.

The following morning I woke up with a headache. I had carried Italy—still deep in slumber—to my bed the night before. While I slept on the couch with a throw blanket tucked around me. I grumbled shifting myself to an upright position, massaging my temples with my fingers. I noticed the sun was higher than usual in the sky outside my window. I over slept, therefore missing my morning training session and breakfast. I forced myself off the couch and peaked into the next room expecting to find Italy still sleeping, impossibly tangled in my bed covers. But there was no one. I double checked the clock—10:28am it read. This was far too early for Felicano to be awake. The only time he got up this early was when I ordered him to report for morning training…and even then he was, more often than not, late. My eyes narrowed at the vacancy of the room. Where could he be to have been in such a rush to leave this morning? I tried to remember the conversation we held the night before. The only thing he said about any sort of location was a Plaza and in a metaphoric since! I groaned loudly; my head ache was growing worse.

Sometime around 11'o clock that night Italy called me and asked me to join him at a bar somewhere. I lied, telling him I was already in my sleepwear and too tired. He started begging and suggesting all of the reasons I should come anyway.

"Oh, Germany, there's all these pretty girls there and good beer too!"

I sighed; I had nothing better to do with my evening. If I was going to sulk about nothing…it'd be better to do it with some good German beer in hand anyway.

"Fine, I'm changing now…expect me there in fifteen minutes. Don't be late."

I could almost _hear _the grin on his face as he said goodbye and hung up. I dropped the phone into my coat pocket and wondered why I always gave into that fool.

Surprisingly Italy was already there when I arrived, waving his arms around wildly to get my attention. His hair I noticed, looked bright red, like ambers in a fire under the red and yellow fluorescence.

Almost as soon as we had arrived females were flocking our direction. I looked around thinking to myself, _"How does he do this? It's like he's a girl magnet…in a very literal since." _One girl in particular wouldn't stop rubbing up against him when she talked to him. He acted oblivious to her intentions chatting and laughing as usual. I ordered a beer and sat casually on a bar stool watching him flirt. His body motions responded perfectly; they weren't too desperate but yet insinuated his interest. He complimented the swarm of women around him in Italian often times, which made them simply _melt _with pleasure. Glowing with friendliness, radiating with relaxation and happiness…staring at him from far away he seemed like a rather attractive person from silhouette alone. These girls would never know Italy for the person he was. They'd only see him as the acting he portrays.

I jumped suddenly, feeling a soft tap on my shoulder. She was a brunette with giant hazel eyes, covered by layers of thick makeup.

"Hello there," she said attempting a seductive tone of voice. "My name's Violet and you are…?"

"Ludwig…" I trailed off, not quite sure what else to say.

She smirked.

"You're kinda hot. Wanna hook up?" She suggested, narrowing her eyes and arching one of her brows.

I glanced around wondering why she was asking to "hook up" with me after just meeting me. She said I was hot… She giggled when I lingered on my response and sat next to me. Her boobs bounced when she sat down in a strange way—as if they were made of Jell-O or filled with pudding. The mini skirt she was wearing hiked up to nearly her hips, revealing rather small lace panties through her black fish nets. She noticed me checking her out and moved closer, raising her hand up my leg, murmuring several dirty mentions. I shifted slightly, becoming uncomfortable with her presence.

"Nuh, uhuh!" She teased tugging at the collar of my coat.

I could smell her perfume, like saccharine filling my nostrils and lungs. Her breath was thick with alcohol, framing my cheek bones. I hadn't realized how close she had gotten to me until she pressed her lips against mine. I could feel the wetness and stickiness embedded on them. It wasn't at all pleasant. She then tried to slip her tongue into my mouth and suck on it. I felt a burning inside me, start in my chest and work its way up my throat like a flame. With unnecessary force I pushed her away. She gasped and stared at me both baffled and offended.

"Nein!" I growled, escaping her through a crowd.

I searched desperately for Italy among the throng of hyper, colorful people. I found him by his hair, which was now purplish under the glow of blue lighting. The curl clinging to the side of his head, bobbed up and down as he laughed. By miracle he turned and stared at me in that moment. The hyper excitement and passion was driven into his eyes. His face was marked with lipstick stains and he gave me this toothy grin, motioning for me to come join him in that harem of his. Feeling betrayed, I turned and swiftly dashed for the door.

The chilled November air slapped my face violently as I stormed out of the bar. I was always the one feeling left out and alone. Why couldn't I just let loose and have fun for once like the rest of humanity?

As I stalked down my car in the winding streets downtown I heard a tapping noise growing louder and louder. Someone was running behind me…following me.

"Italy, what are you doing?" I questioned, menacingly.

I turned to face him, he panted loudly while struggling to wipe the lipstick off of his face. It only smeared worse.

"No, Germany, what are _you _doing? You left so suddenly! What happened?" He pleaded.

I shook my head mumbling insults to that disgusting woman I left behind in the bar, now remembered of her vulgar actions and continued walking. I expected Italy to chase after me but heard nothing. I clenched my teeth. So now Felicano doesn't even care about me? He'd rather flounder around with those inside the bar than try to console me, or turn me around? Fine, if that's how he wanted it. If he was happy, well good!

"Germany!" A loud cry admitted from far behind me. It echoed in the stillness of the tight, dark street ways.

I whipped around to see him standing nearly ten feet behind me and froze still, like a dear in the head lights. Tears were running down the side of his face, painting it with long, silver streaks. It was like yesterday with the rain all over again. I remembered his beautiful face, staring up at the clouds, admiring the gift of nature. Then, how his body had blued and formed goose bumps where it wasn't coated with rain. His delicate auburn hair—softer than the down feathers of a duckling—had been sculpted so finely around the edges of his face. Everything always fell so perfectly into place with him. He was always happy or thoughtful about things. He managed life without stressing or worrying over minor details. But now, to see his face, even in the shadow of night fall…dressed in tears was indeed a heart wrenching sight. And for once, I felt completely and utterly responsible for it.

-later-

I curled in on myself under the covers. _The tears had formed like glass, over his chocolate irises. _My nude body—helplessly cradled in fetal position…I clenched my teeth. _He'd screamed my name…loudly and fearfully. _I closed my eyes, burying my face in my pillow. _I had stood, staring and saying nothing. I watched him cry and listened to him shout, silently. _

"_Germany…Ludwig. Why are you acting so confusing? I'd hoped inviting you here would be fun. That we could relax and you could laugh more." He whined, pausing briefly to think. "It's been so long since I've heard you laugh that can't even remember what it sounds like…I just…just want you to be happy. What will it take for that to be achieved?" _

I pressed my lips to the bed sheets and whispered to myself, "I want to be happy. If I don't even know why I'm so miserable…how can I achieve happiness?" Then, craning my head to the window seal murmur into the darkness, "So tell me that Italy."

Over the next few weeks Italy was quieter around me. Every time I thought he was going to say something, he held his tongue. It got to a point where he stopped visiting me daily and calling me hourly. Gradually, Italy drifted out of my life. One rainy Tuesday, almost a month after the event at the bar, I was reclining in my living room. I listened to the rain clicking and battering softly against my house. I was reminded of the day I found Italy outside in the rain, coat-less and soaked to the bone. He had appeared so beautifully to me…like some angel, waiting for a lost soul to rescue. The blush rose to my cheeks again as I imagined him. Suddenly, as my eyes drifted towards the window, I thought I caught a flash of something redish.

"Germany!" A soft voice pleaded from outside my door.

I instantly jumped up and flipped open the lock, expecting to see a small, adorable Italian man at my door step. My face fell slowly—it was simply a mirage? Oh, but how real his voice had sounded in my ears and the unmistakable auburn curl so clear in my vision! My heart jumped and I folded myself behind the door on the floor. _I need to see him_. I thought, _Just a glimpse of him from the street corner, a short humming from his vocal cords, a swift inhale of the garlic and spices he smelled of, a gentle probing at his finger tips and that would be enough._

I stood up, grabbed my coat and walked out the door. I ceased to turn off the lights or lock up the house, grab my phone or even pull out my car. Rain drenched my body to the point of numbness but I didn't care. I didn't even know where I was going. I just knew I needed him and that I was going to find him tonight somehow. I walked past several dinners and bakeries, closed markets and flickering telephone booths. News papers were tapped to the sidewalks by the rain, which was now pouring in heavy sheets around me. My boots sloshed through puddles...the city was eerily quiet. Suddenly over come with adrenaline, I took off into a full sprint. I couldn't see where I was going anymore for the rain was too thick. I tasted it as it slid across my face.

Italy was close. I had a feeling inside me, that even with this blindness, his house wasn't far. Eventually, I ended up at his door step. I searched the wall with my hand for the door bell and rang it several times. He didn't answer. I became impatient and opened the screen door up. The front door popped right open. _Did he ever lock it?_ I wondered absently while sliding into his foyer. I inhaled his scent and my head spun as if it was intoxicating. It was quiet in his house too, I realized, which was unusual unless he was sleeping. But he wouldn't be sleeping at this hour…he'd likely be upstairs taking a shower or painting at the easel he always had propped in the nook of his bedroom. Without thinking, my legs carried me silently up the stairs. I wandered into the main hallway on the second floor and stared at his bedroom door with intensity. I heard a strange moaning sound coming from the other side and frowned. My curiosity got the better of me in that moment and I pushed the door wide open. Loud gasping sounds rang in my ears and two characters fell away from each other on his bed. On the far left side, a young woman was coiled around his bed sheets in an attempt to cover herself. Her face was brightly flushed and hickeys were tattooed on her skin. Next to her, Italy sat equally clothes less and embarrassed. I stared at him coldly, daring for him to look me straight in the eyes. He looked away and mumbled something angrily in Italian. I tightened my fists at my sides and bared my teeth at him. I felt something hotter than fire flicker and explode inside of me. It was painful, and burning.

"Italy Felicano, what is this?" I demanded. "Why have you left me…for her? Is that it? Are you leaving me so you can spend more time _fucking up _random women? Explain yourself!"

He narrowed his eyes and bit his lower lip, "Germany…I-I left you so you wouldn't have to deal with me. I could _clearly _see that I was only causing trouble for you. I was a nuisance to you…it was obvious and expected. Why would you have reason not to be frustrated with me? I'm an annoying and naive person—I'll admit! Sometimes I'm a little slow and clumsy with myself, but I didn't want that to stop you from being happy. You took such good care of me, Germany. Even though you hated me and wished I'd disappear all along. You took care of me because you didn't know what else to do with me! Well, now I have left you alone to find happiness for yourself and so you wouldn't have to deal with me…but now you-you've come stalking me in my own bed!" He looked on the verge of a break down. In his features there was a vicious fury that almost matched my own. I felt a hitch in my throat and an ache inside my chest.

"That's a lie!" I nearly screamed. "So you were leaving me to help…me stop being so miserable? Because what it looks like is…I was becoming too miserable and unstable for you to deal with, so you made up this accuse and dumped me aside."

"Germany…you hate me, admit it to yourself. You were using me to cover up your problems. Using me to cover up your self hate and unhappiness…the best thing for you would be to just leave me and find yourself for what you are. You're not welcome here anymore." He said, finally meeting my eyes directly.

There was no trace of guilt in his eyes, no concern or doubt. His words were his genuine understanding. I lowered my head; maybe he was right, maybe I had been too dependent on him. But it wasn't like he hadn't been dependent on me in certain matters as well…right? Where was the Italy Felicano I once knew now? This man before me was a stranger and a bitter one at that. He only wore Italy's body and spoke with his voice. I stood, reciting his words inside my head and discovered one error in the least.

"I-I never hated you," I choked. "You were always the best thing for me. Where's the happiness to be found….with no sun?" And with that I simply turned and left.

I didn't glance back to see his expression or his reaction. I didn't wait and listen for him to get up and follow me like before. If I was on my own now, than I was on my own completely. Why should I care about his opinions on _my _mind? He didn't know how I felt…he never did. Even when, once he asked if I hated him before and I denied it he only brushed the topic. He never wanted to bore into emotions because he was scared to confront them. Often he had ignored topics that were deep or sorrowful because he was scared to let go of his child's innocence. A child could never feel the way an adult does. That's why he didn't understand how I felt about him.

When I got home that night the pain really hit me. The whole walk back I had been deadened and detached from my body. Now, behind the closed door of my still house a massive throbbing grinded in my chest. I actually fell to the floor of my living room as the fatigue settled in my muscles. My face muscles tightened strangely as pools of wetness formed on the floor beneath my cheeks. Hot crystalline ran down my face silently. I was certain I looked horrid. A grown man, with a strong solider-like build, trusted upon his living room floor in tears. But at this point I was apathic about the way I looked to anyone—anyone but Felicano. I wanted him to hold me and stroke my greasy hair like a parent does for their child and tell me he was going to love me and make me feel alive again. I wanted him to kiss me or make love to me passionately like he did for those women. I wanted him to call me his. So I wouldn't feel so lonely? In part, yes…but also because I _loved_ him and prayed for him to love me in return. I remembered first meeting him…his pitiful cries for me to 'spare him'. I smiled recalling the time he almost set a grenade off on himself…ohhh, such a silly fool. He usually did things that made my head spin, but now as I thought back to it…I enjoyed everything he did. It was all interesting and familiar. It made me feel important to him when he cried to me for help even though I would never have admitted it.

Some nights he used to crawl into my bed. Often, I wouldn't even ask how he got there. Instead, I'd just close my eyes and be glad he was there. For a long time, my bed was never cold. For a long time…I had a warm and sweet person cuddled up to me as if his safety depended on my being. I could hear his heart beat fluttering and his breathing broiling against my chest. It was the best feeling in the world and for some reason whenever I looked at his lips in the moonlight I imagined kissing them. I thought sometimes that I had at some point kissed him in bidding farewells but I passed it off as a dream. In any case, no matter how hard I willed it…Italy would not come bursting through my door and sweep me off the floor of depression. _I should just get over him, _I thought briefly. _But...I can't, _I argued myself.

_I love him too much._

I woke disoriented and sat up, my body making audible popping noises. The ground beneath me was slippery and hard. _Why am I on the floor? What happen—oh, I must have cried myself to sleep._ I got up slowly and migrated for the bathroom. Staring in the mirror I saw only myself, but at the same time, I didn't recognize myself. The man staring back at me hadn't shaved in a week or so…he had bags and dark circles under his eye lids. His lips were dry and cracked and his hair, a greasy tangle on his head. His eyes were hollow and empty…like all of the life had been cried out of them. I tried to swallow, but my throat felt like it was lined with razors. I choked and coughed loudly. I rubbed my forehead, groaning, and turned on the shower. I slipped off my clothing and stood under the faucet. The water felt great on my skin but for some reason it could never get hot enough to eradicate the chill on my bones.

I lit a fire and made two coffees for myself and a stranger and sat alone at the table. I stared at the mug across from me for what felt like a ridiculously long time before taking a sip of my own. After finishing I stood up and cleaned only my own mug…leaving the other in its place. I took out a book and flipped through a few pages absently. As I walked past my coat rack I noticed a glint of sunlight hitting something in one of the pockets. I pulled out my cell phone and flipped it open:

11:45a.m. No Messages.

My fingers rotated across the screen moving the pointer to the "Contacts" list. It read: Gilbert, Kiku, Warranty Center, Voicemail, Directory Assistance—

I threw the phone to the ground as if it had scolded me severely. I gripped the material covering my chest and clenched my teeth as a wild pounding dug into my ears like fingernails on a chalk board. The last name on the list…I couldn't even bare to look at it for more than a second without having reminisce of last night's trauma.

I reached over to pick it back up and put it away or turn it off, but even before my fingertips brushed it's surface it began vibrating and singing my ringtone cheerfully. I gloomed daringly at it. _This must be a figment of my imagination _I thought_, _flipping the phone over and seeing the caller ID. _I'm simply traumatized. _Frightened, I ended the call before even answering it and sighed in relief when the incoming call notice vanished. I turned my phone off in that instant to ensure it wouldn't happen a second time. Grabbing my laptop from under the T.V. cabinet, I logged onto my instant messager and called my brother. I asked if he wanted to eat out somewhere with me for lunch. He wasn't buying it. So, in a desperate attempt to have _someone _to talk to besides Japan, I threw in the offer of going paintball shooting afterwards and paying for everything. He chortled loudly and agreed to meet me in half an hour.

"Such immaturity," I grumbled, shaking my head.

-back at home -

My afternoon spent with my older brother wasn't as bad as I had originally regretted it to be. Sure he was a stuck up jerk sometimes but being with him today was actually helpful to my ghastly mood for the past month and half. I flipped on the radio in the kitchen and hummed along to the some familiar songs as I hung up my coat. In the process of hanging it something vibrated inside of it causing me to jump and drop the coat on the floor by accident.

"Ahh," I stared at the object which had fallen with disbelief. "Didn't I turn this off nine hours ago?"

It was my cell phone and it was blinking notifying me of missed calls. I hung up my coat and flopped down on my couch thinking it wouldn't hurt just to check…

I had 13 missed calls from… the same person who called this morning. Then just as I clicked to exit the list of missed calls my phone froze over, interrupted by yet another incoming caller. _Oh, Mein Gott, wieso is this happening to me?_ I took a deep breath, closing my eyes, clicked the 'answer call' button and cautiously raised the phone to my ear.

"Hallo, Italy."

"Germany, finally, you answered!" Italy exclaimed sounded relieved. "How're you?"

I scowled. "Italy, you wouldn't call me 13 times to ask about my day. Now tell me the real reason you've called."

There was an exceptionally long pause. I almost checked my phone to see if he had hung up without me noticing. Then, in a low and barely audible voice he said, "Ludwig, I called to offer you my apology. You don't have to except it, or even listen to my explanation of 'why' I'm apologizing to you now just….I…want you to know the truth. The _whole _truth."

My stomach turned and I became uneasy. I wasn't sure if I even wanted to hear what he was about to say. I was too heart broken over him to even listen to his voice talk casually at this moment. That might possibly explain why I was gripping the fabric on my couch to the point of wrinkling; nearly splitting the seams already.

"The minute I heard the door slam downstairs last night I told that girl away…nicely of course…but Germany, she won't be coming back. I thought about what you said…I even wrote it down just to try comprehending it better and eventually, found something out." His voice hitched slightly in his throat and he swallowed the emotions threatening, back. "I was wrong about you. I was wrong about _me _and everything. People…need other people to be happy. Without good human interaction…we're not really human at all.

Those girls…they don't fill me with pleasure the way you do. They're weak, emotionally, and now I do feel like I've used them. For years now I've used them, simply trying to gain true joy. When I make love to them, the feeling is false and lasts no more than a day because it's all psychical; for them and for me. But with you Ludwig, it's different. I don't make love to you every night and yet I love you when I look at you. I felt like you hated me because you always raised your voice and criticized me for things I just couldn't change no matter how hard I tried. I saw that as a suggestion that you might be annoyed with my being. I also tied that into the fact that…I was always the one calling your phone and visiting your house. Now I understand why you didn't respond that way to me. It's because I sucked the oxygen out of the opportunity and therefore, never even gave you a _chance _to love me back."

I was speechless and sat benumbed to my seat for several minutes. I was silent so long Italy even asked if I was still there. I blinked and shook my head, then smiled.

"Love you…back?"

"Haha, Oh Germany," Felicano laughed. "Must you make me explain myself through the phone like this?"

I smirked.

"Well…you're always welcome _here._ If you'd like of course we could…"

He giggled—actually _giggled _and said, "Yes, I'd like that very much Germany! I'll be there soon…don't get lost somewhere between now and then, promise?"

I smiled gladly back at him through the phone and said, "I Promise."

**EPIOLOGE **

I nuzzled my pillow with my nose, smelling Italy's lovely scent embedded in it. I sighed heavily, the head ache accompanying a possible on coming cold growing immensely. I was jerked back to reality by something indefinable wafting from the direction of the kitchen. I wandered into the room slightly alarmed to find Italy cooking and humming pleasurably to himself. He stood bare naked, wiggling his toes on the floor and turned suddenly, noticing me watching him from an awkward stance.

He laughed sweetly saying, "Bunogiorno, Germany! Sleep well? I'm preparing Tramezzino this morning for us. Oh, I can't believe I woke up before you! Your bed is very comfortable. I had lain there twenty minutes or so awake, fully rested even, just because I didn't want to get up! Ah, don't worry—"

I laughed then, which shut him up and put him into a state of confusion. The old Italy was back it seemed. I didn't mind so much surprisingly, as any sane person would have ridded themselves of his constant chatter and nonsense by now. It made me feel comfortable—despite having a head ache—to hear Felicano's clueless rambling. Suddenly, because of that things made since again. I realized the emptiness in my chest had dispersed…onto the thin sheer of frost outside my window. It was as if a blanket had rapped itself tightly around me and was keeping me in this constant state of contentment. Or possibly that blanket was just something a little more alive…with _his_ permanent babbling zipping wildly across the room like music. Colors had been inverted, with sounds bubbling into the air like mad. I did expect my fridge to get up and start walking around the kitchen because for what ever reason it seemed normal now.


End file.
